Voldemort Can't Stop the Rock
by Chess
Summary: Sirius, Remus, heat, rain, the war, and loud music. Set before the end of the first war. Slash.


Disclaimer: They belong to JKR. The title comes from a song of the same name by Harry and the Potters.

Written while listening to copious amounts of David Bowie.

It's hot. It was hot when Sirius and Remus walked home. It was hot for three days before that, and Sirius thinks he might be going completely mad. He's scared, too, something he hasn't been for years, not really, not like this. The war is getting so big that it's everywhere they look, and it's far too big now for Sirius and James to just tamp it down and go home like big heroes.

Sirius is sick of James right now, anyway, simply because James insists on _being _a big hero, and they're way past the point where that works. Sirius is also sick of the war. He doesn't like the way it makes James act, and he doesn't like it that he has yet to call James on it. It should be easier. It isn't.

Then there's Peter, who's been acting really odd. Sirius has always cared about Peter in a sort of detached way, perhaps not nearly as much as James has. Lately, however, Peter has been drawing away from them. He won't look Sirius in the eye. He's terrified, and Sirius knows there's nothing that they can do about it. He knows James is having the time of his life, however he denies it, but Sirius just wants it to be over.

And then there's the other thing.

He doesn't really know if he even wants to think about it yet, or ever. The thought that one of them might be a traitor is really too much to cope with. Sirius has a hard time understanding disloyalty and it's hurting him more than he knows. That may or may not be the dog part of his brain. He's just not wired for things like this.

He is, however, wired for going completely mental, he's sure of that. It's so, so hard these days, and it would be much nicer to just hide away in some dark corner of himself and shut everything out. He has to take care of the others, though, and now there's Harry to think of, too.

To tell the truth, Sirius is angry with everything in the world right now. He's furious at James for not being careful more of the time, furious at Regulus for getting himself killed, and furious at himself for not being nicer to his baby brother before it was too late. He's annoyed that he doesn't have any hate left for Voldemort, the real cause of all this.

And then there's the other thing.

He keeps coming back around to that, no matter what else he tries to think about. He's going to have to talk to Remus about it soon, but there's no reason to speed up matters. He resolves not to talk at all tonight, but to instead make as much noise as possible on his guitar.

It's hot.

That is the most important thing, more important than the war and the deaths and all the rest.

It is hot.

But it is not more important than Sirius, because he is set away in his own little category, in some other place in Remus that he still can't name. He doesn't even really want to name it, even when Sirius is acting like he is right now and smashing away on his guitar like the world is about to end. _One really good thunderstorm, that's what we need_, Remus thinks, but right now everything is tight and dark and uncomfortable.

They're sitting in Remus' house, such as it is, and he supposes that it's _their _house now. That's a very weird thought, but it's a good kind of weird, just like everything to do with Sirius.

The house is tiny by anyone's standards, and that's usually fine, but today it's over one hundred degrees outside, and it must be much hotter in the cramped little living room. Remus hates being too hot. He already felt stupid and shabby in this house, but now he feels like his skin is stuck to everything. He feels like his body is going to melt all over the floor, and the horrible noise coming from Sirius' guitar isn't helping. That's a different kind of melting, or maybe the same one.

This evening, though, everything is just uncomfortable. It might be the coming storm, but Remus suspects that it's the war. He wants, _needs _to talk to Sirius; to break the silence.

"Sirius. I think we should talk about it."

Sirius, looks up, startled, from where he is sitting perched on Remus' best chair, playing his guitar. "Talk about what?" He really does _sound _surprised, but Remus is sure he shouldn't be. They've been avoiding this for much too long for Sirius not to know.

Sirius shrugs suddenly, a sharp, animal movement. "Someday," he says, "I am going to blow something up." It may be that they've been in the house for too long, but Remus actually believes him. He's coming over all stormy like he sometimes does, and Remus knows both danger and Sirius well enough to tell that something in their life is straining hard enough to break them all if they're not careful. Sirius' eyes are burning and dark and fucked-up, and Remus can't even imagine what must have happened to get them that way. He knows everything that's happened to Sirius, but that doesn't mean he understands.

Sirius blinks. "You're staring at me." It comes out flat and it's not tinged with his usual off-kilter humor. It's dark and moody like him and it kills Remus that he doesn't know how to access it. No, it's more than that. It gets to him that _he _can't feel like that. He tries and tries to get that angry, just so he'll know what Sirius feeling, but it never works. He's spent so long trying to lock that anger away that he isn't even sure if it's there anymore.

He sighs. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. It's just. . . things have been strange, Sirius." _Strained_, he thinks. "I mean," he tries again, "you and James have even been strange with each other."

Sirius flicks a piece of his hair back impatiently. "It's this bloody _spy_ thing, Moony."

And there it is. Sirius has hit on it, and it's going to hurt, Remus can tell. He's fairly sure he should just let Sirius rant it out, but he opens his mouth anyway. "We're not sure. . ."

"Not sure," Sirius says, and his voice is flat again, but this time it's dangerous. "Moony, _I _amfucking sure. And I'm also fuckingsure that it's someone close to us. It has to be." He strums the guitar strings as he speaks, his voice rising with the pitch of the music. He seems dangerously distracted. "I mean," he continues, "it wouldn't be such a big deal if it was just Snape or something. But it isn't. I know what James says, but it isn't. It's one of _us_."

Remus feels his chest freeze, something almost welcome in this blistering heat. He knew Sirius was suspicious, but he didn't know it fell quite so close to home, and the look in Sirius' eyes threatens to kill him. He tries to say something, but nothing sensible will come out, and Remus can't afford not to be sensible.

Sirius shakes his head, shaggy hair whipping around his face. He plays the guitar a little more loudly. "It's insane," he says. "It's completely insane, but it's true. It's got to be someone_ really_ close. You know that and so does James, but he's too damn stupid and naïve to believe it." He pauses. "It makes me _so fucking angry_, Moony. James is going off like he doesn't want this war to end, and now Harry's in danger, and, and this whole time someone is just watching us and _laughing his damn head off_."

Remus feels like he can't move. The worst part is, Sirius is right. James loves playing the war hero, even if he doesn't realize it himself. He puffs up a little bit every time he's chosen for a mission. And Harry _is _in danger. And the spy _has _got to be someone who they trust absolutely. But he can't believe. . . "It's not one of us four, it's that's what you're thinking," he snaps. It comes out harsher than he means it to.

Surprisingly, Sirius doesn't blow up and deny that he would ever think such a thing. Instead, he tilts his head to one side, a characteristic dog movement, something he picked up and never put back down. "Hm," he says, and suddenly turns his attention back to the guitar.

Remus waits. The thump of the far-off thunder dovetails with the thump of Sirius' music, and that doesn't make Remus feel any better. It means there's another thing which Sirius is part of and he isn't. Sirius is thunder, and Remus isn't sure yet if he's lightning, and he isn't even sure he knows what lightning ought to mean, and Sirius won't shut up with that bloody music.

Remus' head starts to ache acutely. He doesn't want to analyze this right now, but this is evidently when they have to do it. It's getting hard to breathe in the stifling heat, and Sirius has to drive everything to a head before he'll finally talk about it. Remus doesn't understand that way of thinking. He'd rather have a nice cup of tea and maybe a scone and just talk about it, but Sirius has to feel like fighting. Right now, he seems to be fighting with his guitar. The music is much, much too loud.

_I don't want to fight_, Remus thinks. _This can't be so hard. We'll just calmly discuss who we might suspect. But first, we need to talk about the four of us. Because Sirius _knows _it isn't one of us, but right now he's not acting like it. _But Remus doesn't know how to break into the little bubble of sound Sirius is creating around himself. Sirius blinks, and Remus can't look away. Sirius' eyes are flashing like lightning and the music isn't as beautiful as it used to be. The war has ruined even that, made it into something hard and angry and too sincere.

_All right_, Remus thinks, _I have to say someting_. "Sirius," he says. No answer. "Look," Remus tries, "You know it's not James, that wouldn't make any sense. And Peter's far too loyal to James." He can't believe they even have to think about things like this, to dissect their friends because they can't trust anyone. At least he admits it, though. He worries about James, who still refuses to accept the fact that the spy could be any one of them.

Sirius still doesn't answer and Remus shifts uncomfortably in the threadbare chair. The thunder is getting closer. He doesn't know what to say that will make this better, so instead he says something incredibly stupid. "Well, I know it's not _you_."

Sirius' head snaps up. "_What._" It's not a question, it's a sharp bark of a word and Remus almost cringes. "How dare you," Sirius says, and Remus can see now that he's shaking. "Everyone knows, Moony, everyone. It's the perfect front, isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" Remus asks, feeling empty and afraid.

"Oh," Sirius says, gripping the guitar hard, "Don't think it isn't obvious, because you know it is. It's a good _act_, Moony. Tea and chocolate and all that! Well, it's bollocks, that's what. You fucking bastard."

Before Remus realizes what he's doing, he's across the room and punching Sirius as hard as he can. They roll over and under each other and Remus has never been this angry before. He hits Sirius wherever he can and Sirius hits back. "I've never, never, suspected you," Remus gasps, letting himself use Sirius' anger, since his own is lost somewhere back in the past.

"Liar, I hate you, I'll kill you!" Sirius yells–

When the lightning comes, it's is sudden and frightening, and it highlights Sirius' cheekbones and his strange expression. He's frozen with what looks more like horror than anger, and Remus doesn't move.

Everything hangs suspended for a second, one moment in which Remus isn't sure if they're going to cry or break or maybe even betray everyone.

Then it _rains_. It rains harder than it ever has before. It rains against the windows and snaps twigs from the trees. It rains out James and Sirius and all the blood and screaming and the damn music. It rains Remus hollow, something much harder than it should be.

When it's raining hard enough that Remus can't even hear Sirius smile, Sirius grabs him by the collar and shoves his tongue down his throat.

"Mmph," says Remus, but he can't even hear _himself_. And suddenly Sirius is touching him everywhere and grinning and sobbing and Remus really has no idea, so he just gives up and lets Sirius go pleasantly mad for a little while.

Sirius finally stops touching Remus long enough to drag them both into the bedroom. The door shuts, and the darkness is growing cooler already. Remus breathes a sigh of relief.


End file.
